


Whisper of the Art

by nintendocialism



Series: Studio Avonlea [2]
Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV), Mimi wo Sumaseba | Whisper of the Heart
Genre: F/M, I'm back, Studio Ghibli, That's right, and i have another ghibli au that nobody asked for, and the story works so perfectly for anne and gil, athlete!jerry, doctor!gil, ghibli reloaded, pianist!di, plant mum!marilla, urban slice of life, whisper of the heart is so underrated, writer!anne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:13:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25897252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nintendocialism/pseuds/nintendocialism
Summary: Aspiring writer and dedicated reader Anne Shirley-Cuthbert loves to check out fairytales from the school library. However, there always seems to be someone who beats her to it. A very specific someone. A horrible someone who she will hate forever.How can she know that seeking him out will transform the course of her life, help her begin the first step towards realising her ambitions, broaden her horizons - and maybe cause her to fall in love?
Relationships: Diana Barry/Jerry Baynard, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Series: Studio Avonlea [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1879282
Comments: 6
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

The library was quiet this evening, thought Gilbert, fumbling for a book to add to his pile of medical texts. His arms were almost overflowing, so he ducked out of the aisle and dropped them with a loud thunk onto the table in the communal area. Slowly bending his aching arms, he looked up. On the other side of the table was a girl, her bright red hair under the fluorescent lighting immediately catching his eye. She had tamed it into two plaits which brushed the book she bent closely towards. She had not looked up, despite the racket he had made. He stared, enchanted. Surely she did not realise how near her nose was to the book? She bent even closer, and he glimpsed her eyes as she did so - greedy for words, entirely wrapped up. He turned his attention to the stack of books beside her. They were all fairytales. He grinned to himself, and turned into the fiction area. He could handle a few more books strapped to the back of his bike…

_Three months later…_

‘I’m home!’ hollered Anne as she stepped through the door of the cluttered apartment which she shared with her adoptive family. She kicked off her shoes and stepped through the door to the kitchen. It was dark outside, but the day’s heat had seemingly attached itself to the air, and she had waded through it up the hill dragging the shopping. The thin plastic handles of the bag had rolled up as they rested in the crooks of her fingers. Anne dropped the bag unceremoniously on the kitchen table and flexed her fingers to wring the ache out of them. She wound her way around the table to Marilla and pressed a light kiss to her cheek, conscious of the heat which clung to her. Flopping down into a chair, she reached her arm out lazily to grab the book which she had taken out of the school library earlier that day. Giving into her curiosity, she opened it onto the page where the book’s history could be found. And, indeed, there it was. That name: Gilbert Blythe.

Anne stared at it in puzzlement. Again? This boy must be the male version of her. He had checked out most of the books that she did - and she had no way of knowing if he checked out ones she’d already taken. Matthew sat down at the table and filled a cup of rich coffee, and readied his pipe. Marilla took it from him as he raised it to his lips and placed it back down. The three of them sat together in companionable silence drinking their coffee before Anne turned in for the night, exhausted. Once in her room, she cross-checked the library cards. It was definitely the same guy.

‘Who are you, Gilbert Blythe?’ she muttered as she flung herself onto her bed.

...

‘Anne! Wake up!’ shouted Marilla to an almost comatose Anne, rendered weak from the close July heat. ‘You said you were meeting Di today, didn’t you?’

‘Yes! Yes, I’m up,’ lied Anne.

Marilla slid back the door. ‘Hm,’ she intoned with a wry grin. ‘Yes, I see that.’ Her elegant grey head disappeared as she moved to grab her wallet from by the telephone. ‘Come on, it’s ten already.’

‘Ten? I’m meeting Di at half past!’ Anne, characteristically flustered, began attempting to tame her hair into her signature plaits.

‘No time for that, girl. Get dressed and run, especially if you want to go to the library first.’

‘Oh, Marilla,’ said Anne. ‘You know me too well.’ A pleasant rush went through her, and she was fully aware of just how silly she looked as a smile spread across her face. It was nice to be able to say that to somebody. She pulled on a light yellow linen set of a blouse and shorts, and glimpsed herself in the mirror as she slipped on some espadrilles. Good enough. The day was bright and hot as she slipped out of her pleasantly brutalist apartment building. Despite being firmly built of concrete, the open stairwells and balconies upon which an urban jungle of flowerpots grew and the courtyard trees tangled themselves had earned the block the name of ‘Green Gables.’ It was a name which Anne was more than happy to take credit for, since it was the one she had shouted upon following Matthew - on the brand new bike he had brought to the station for her when they had adopted her - into the enclosed area around which the building had seemingly sprung up. Vines had curled themselves around the roof, making it seem almost thatched. The name had stuck, since the residents had heard her say it, sunning themselves on their balconies on a hot day almost 5 years before - a hot day much like this one. Today she had not brought her bike - her school, where she had planned to meet Di, was up several steep hills which she would rather walk up then drag the extra weight of the bike, and it was also not particularly far. She would be there by twenty-five past, hopefully giving her all the time she needed to duck into the library.

‘Miss Stacy,’ she inquired, peering around the door of the teachers’ lounge. ‘I hoped you’d be here!’

‘Hello, Anne,’ replied her teacher jovially. ‘What can I do for you today?’

‘Would you mind opening up the library for me? There’s a few books I’d like to get out.’

Miss Stacy smiled indulgently, grabbing the keys from where they hung above her desk. ‘Come on then.’

‘Maybe this time I’ll beat Gilbert Blythe to it,’ Anne mused as they trod the well-known route to the library.

‘Gilbert Blythe?’ asked Miss Stacy. ‘I swear I’ve heard that name.’

‘I think he goes here too, although I’ve never met him. He seems to take every book out before me. I can’t help but notice it - he’s always just ahead of me on the record card.’

‘It seems familiar… but that’s for you to work out, Anne. Here we are!’ said her teacher brightly, swinging open the door.

‘Be quick, I have work to get back to.’

As Miss Stacy signed her books out, Diana flung the library door open.

‘Anne!’ she mock-yelled. ‘Do you know how long you’ve taken? I’ve been freckling!’

‘I-I’m sorry, Di,’ said Anne, genuinely worried that Diana was angry with her. ‘I really am-’

‘Don’t be silly,’ her best friend replied, pulling her into a swift hug.

‘Did you beat that Blythe boy to it this time?’

Anne grinned. ‘I did indeed! See you later, Miss Stacy! Thank you!’

‘Bye, girls,’ came the reply. ‘And remember to keep studying!’

...

The day was still oppressive and getting more so as the sun reached its peak, so rather than move any further the girls flung themselves onto a bench by the school sports courts. They gave a little wave to the boys practising baseball.

‘Do you-’ Di cut herself off.

‘Do I what?’ asked Anne, lifting her mass of hair from the back of her neck to cool herself, aware that she was bright red.

‘Do you think about… boys?’

‘Uh,’ stammered Anne, before shaking her head. She did, of course, if her deep longing to know who Gilbert Blythe was counted as ‘thinking about boys.’

Diana dropped her voice, leaning in before whispering ‘I got a love letter!’

‘YOU GOT A LO-’ Anne exploded, before Diana slapped a hand over her mouth. ‘

Shh!’ she hissed.

‘From who?’ asked Anne, quieter this time.

‘Fred Wright - he’s in a different class to us.’

‘Do you like him?’ Anne replied, intoxicated by the romance of it all.

‘I mean, he’s sweet,’ said Di, blushing, ‘but-’

‘HEY, ANNE!’ came the resounding shout of Jerry Baynard, her next door neighbour. ‘CHUCK ME MY BAG, WOULD YOU?’

‘Jerry!’ Anne admonished. ‘I’m trying to have an adult conversation here.’

‘Sorry, Shirley. I need it.’

‘You’re a benchwarmer, what for?’

‘I’m rising through the ranks!’ protested Jerry vocally. ‘Hey, where did Di go?’ he asked.

‘Ugh!’ grunted Anne, moving to throw his bag unceremoniously over the top of the fence that separated them.

‘See you later, Jerry.’

‘Bye, Shirley-Cuthbert!’

Anne ran after the flash of Diana’s light blue dress which she saw disappearing towards the school’s entrance.

‘Di! Di! Wait!’ she panted, catching up to her. ‘Why did you run?’ Diana was silent. ‘Oh. My. God. You like Baynard!’ said Anne gleefully. Diana reddened. ‘You do!’ ‘

Shut up,’ denied Diana half-heartedly. ‘Hey,’ she said, clearly noticing a distraction to weaponise, ‘where’s your book?’

‘My book! I think I left it on the bench.’

‘Do you want me to come with you and get it?’ asked Diana, clearly reluctant to do so and already walking away.

‘No,’ Anne grumbled. ‘I’ll go. You get to tutoring…’ She turned on her heel and walked back to the bench.


	2. Chapter 2

The day was hot, and Gilbert Blythe had just finished his swimming competition at the school pool. His hair was still wet and pleasantly continued to drip water onto the nape of his neck, cooling him considerably. Turning left, he made his way past the courts to the main gates, but stopped short when he spied a leather-bound book discarded by the leg of a bench. He bent to pick it up, perching on the bench as he considered it. _A fairytale book? Could it be?_ He opened it almost reverently, immediately checking the record to see who had most recently taken this book out. _Amasawa Seiji. Tsukushima Shizuku. Anne Shirley-Cuthbert._ He knew the first two, leaving him to hope that Anne Shirley-Cuthbert would be the mystery redhead from the library. It was a silly thought, but he sat there gently turning the pages hoping that she would return to claim her book. _The Brothers Grimm._ Soon enough, he sat - despite the swarming heat - reading the book feverishly, quickly sucked in by the evocative depictions of the forest and the shocking scenes of daring and violence. 

‘Hey!’ came a voice from the path behind him. ‘You have my book!’

_ There she was. _ He couldn’t believe his luck; he had a perfect meet cute delivered into his lap. He self-consciously reached up to tousle his curling hair.

‘Anne Shirley-Cuthbert,’ he drawled, aiming for attractive but missing the mark and overshooting into insufferable, in Anne’s opinion.

‘How do you know my name?’ she said suspiciously, narrowing her eyes.

‘Uh, it’s in the front,’ said Gilbert, blindsided by the sight of her hair unbound and shining in the sun. 

Anne, however, felt snubbed and ridiculed. ‘Well, can I have it back?’ 

‘Sure thing, Carrots,’ he said, passing it back to her. No sooner than her hands had touched the book was it ripped out of his hands and brought resoundingly down upon his head. She turned tail and ran back the way she had come.

‘What did I do?’ he yelled, dumbfounded.

…

‘Idiot! I hate him! I hate him, I hate him, I  _ hate _ him!’ Anne muttered loudly to herself as she made her way home. ‘ _ Carrots _ ,’ she repeated mockingly, grabbing a drink from the fridge. She flung herself down on her bed, knocking her head on the book she had been reading the day before.  _ Gilbert Blythe’s book _ , she thought, remembering her triumph at beating him to the book today.

She sat up.  _ What if  _ he’s  _ Gilbert Blythe? _

…

The first day back at school brought Anne no further answers. Any subtle (or not so subtle, in Diana’s opinion) inquiries into the identity of Gilbert Blythe brought her vague responses. Dark hair, hazel eyes,  _ very handsome  _ (this from Ruby) all fit the boy from yesterday, but Anne prided herself on rigorous journalistic integrity and refused to admit this as hard evidence. She also refused to admit to herself that she decidedly did not want the boy of her dreams to be so resolutely awful, handsome or not, and may have been excluding evidence in order to postpone confronting the idea that he was Gilbert Blythe. The week was spent pondering this mystery whilst also coming to terms with the difficulties of her final year of high school. If she had thought the preceding years had been rigorous, she now had to contend with nearly twice as much homework in subjects which entirely failed to catch her attention in the same ways fables did. The first weekend of the school year came as a firm relief, and Anne looked forward to taking a break and wandering the city. 

Having finished her chores, she set out to deliver Marilla her lunch. Marilla worked as a formidable librarian, combining a strict dedication to order and accessibility with an unexpected devotion to fictional worlds. She could be found behind a desk of the city library with a stern stare radiating from behind her wiry glasses and a hand on an Austen at any hour of the day. 

Anne finished her flower arrangement with a flourish, placing the carefully harvested centrepiece on the table and whispering a thank you to the multiple potted plants on the balcony from which she had filched a display fit for the elegantly perishing summer. Grabbing the perfectly created lunch which she had freshly prepared for her foster mother, she locked up and skipped down the open concrete staircase which led to her flat, relishing the slight bite of autumn which made the middle of the day so bearable. She made her way to the train station, fiddling with the cuffs of her jumper and rubbing the wool between her fingers, basking in the perfect medium of the temperature. Anne rather thrived in the cold, dressing for it far too early, which resulted in a slightly uncomfortable experience throughout early September.

As she took her seat on the train, she looked down at her shoes, leaning down to fish a small stone from her heel. Out of the corner of her eye, she spied a flash of fur. _That was most definitely a paw_ , she thought. Leaning further forwards to follow the mystery, she saw a cat sitting politely on its haunches by the door. She brushed her hair behind her ears and frowned. 

‘Hey,’ she whispered. ‘What are you up to?’ 

The cat turned to her, and pointedly turned back towards the doors, as if to say ‘what do you think?’

‘Rude,’ muttered Anne. ‘Are you getting off here too?’ she asked as the doors opened at the next station. Indeed, as though in distaste, the cat had scampered off. Unwilling to be snubbed so publicly, Anne took off after it. ‘Oi!’ she yelled, drawing the attention of several passersby. She didn’t notice - she was far too focused on the calico brush of hair currently disappearing down the steps to the street. She turned the corner out onto the street, and watched it cross the road. A lorry passed by, separating them entirely. 

‘So much for adventure,’ she remonstrated bitterly.  She turned and made her way up the hill to the library, an air-conditioned haven in the ebbing days of summer (which, admittedly, had been worsened by her decision to give chase whilst in a jumper). Marilla had probably set aside a few books for her, knowing that she would most likely choose to stop a while. She dragged her legs up the final few steps to the library and paused to lean against the balcony which looked down the hill towards the station. 

_ What was that? _

It was the cat! Its distinctive marking of black over only one ear marked it out as it trotted along the fence which ran along the base of the hill, demarking the wilderness of the scrub from the gardens which lined the bottom of the incline. And such a majestic trot it was! Anne was entranced, only taking a moment before giving chase, running along the balcony before climbing over the employee gate which marked the end of it, Marilla’s perfectly packed lunch forgotten as it bashed against the wall. 

Over the fence was an alleyway which led further up the steep hill. Lined with detritus, it deepened to a dark portal which Anne fancied would transport her somewhere rather intriguing. And here was the cat, making its smug way up the alleyway with nary a backwards glance. It knew full well that Anne would follow it; it didn’t need to check. Anne, always up for a challenge (set by a cat or not), steeled herself for the climb and took a step into the mouth of the alleyway.

**Author's Note:**

> I know those of you who know how the film goes will be fearing a certain romantic confrontation after this... never fear! I'm not sticking so closely as to have that happen.


End file.
